


Storm Warning

by SirWaddlesEsquire



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirWaddlesEsquire/pseuds/SirWaddlesEsquire
Summary: An evening of solitude interrupted. (NSFW - Pinecest)
Relationships: Dipper Pines/Mabel Pines
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Storm Warning

If the approach of the car hadn’t disturbed the stillness of the moment, then the crisp breeze that had sprung up certainly would have.

It had been a typical autumn evening. The golds and reds and oranges of the changing leaves had been matched only by the impending sunset casting the sky into a pleasant, if austere, fiery haze. Occasional flickers of soft light had revealed the dogged efforts of the last few fireflies of the season, their labors admirable in the face of an inexorable prominence of a setting sun. And everywhere, a harmonious serenity had alighted upon the world. It was the kind of evening one spent on the porch, lazily rocking in one’s favorite chair, a mason jar of whiskey in one’s hand, and nothing on one’s mind.  
Dipper Pines had done exactly that, settling into what he imagined would be yet another evening spent in solitude.

But the tinkling of the chimes and the rustling of the leaves announced the increasing strength of the wind, the air swirling around him and rising goose bumps on his arms. To the east, clouds of slate and onyx began to form, a sharp contrast to the warmth in the west. And as the world started to sway in gentle motion, a practical and economic compact car pulled into the drive, the crunching of gravel beneath the tires just audible over the other sounds around it before the vehicle parked. There was a moment’s pause as he considered the car, wondering if whoever was inside was considering him back. But the moment was broken by the opening of the driver’s side door and the emergence of a familiar figure. Hazel eyes, so similar to his own, stared at him from across the distance.

“Heya, Dip,” Mabel Pines said cautiously. “Long time no see.”

Even as irritation flowed through him, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He’d tried so hard to get away from it all. He thought he’d succeeded. The freeing abandonment of so many obligations and connections, the upheaval of a cross-country move, the ditching of most things electronic. It was all designed so that he could fade into a warm and enveloping obscurity. And here was his twin sister, auburn hair shifting in the emerging breeze, bright pink sweater and purple skirt odd against the earth tone backdrop, flats completely out of place in the sod and the mud. He knew the stance she held well; he’d seen it nearly every day growing up. Shoulders thrown back and stiff, feet set in a manner taught by a certain boxing grunkle, her chin raised in challenge, and a fierce look of determination on her face. She stood in defiance of everything around her. He had surrounded himself with anonymity and she had rampaged right through it.

Dipper said nothing, but let the smile grow. It was actually good to see her again. It had been forever.

“You know,” she called out, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s customary to invite a guest in.”

“Technically, according to ‘Etiquette in Society’, the distinction of guest can only be conferred on one who was invited by the host. Not by themselves.” He chided in response.

“Do those manner books of yours say anything about what to do when the host is being a butt-face?” The insult was classically childish.

“Have you seen the portraits of those Victorian gentlemen?” He asked. “I’m pretty sure they were all butt-faces, all the time. So if anything, the rules apply double in that circumstance.”

The two twins held the stand-off for a minute, glaring at each other across the distance. It was Dipper who broke first. It always was. He began laughing, and it was only a beat before Mabel joined in.  
“Come on up here, Mabes.” He said with sincerity. “You’re just in time to watch the rest of this sunset. They’re gorgeous out here.”

Mabel sniffed in an exaggeratedly prim manner before crossing the rest of the drive and stepping onto the dirt path and following it up to the porch. She ascended the steps and dropped herself into the rocking chair next to his. The Pines twins both looked out towards the horizon, enjoying the bright hues being painted on the sky. For a while, they were quiet.

“So what brings you out here?” Dipper finally asked, the simply worded question belying the torrent underneath.

She must have sensed that, because she turned to him and gave a smile that was clearly meant to be innocent. “Why, I came to see you, dear brother. Of course.”

He snorted in disbelief, and she gave him a look of acknowledgment that was apologetic.

“Okay, okay. So that’s not quite true.” She hesitated, an action he was not used to her performing. She almost seemed at a loss for what to say, her eyes unfocused as she dropped her head and stared at her lap. She even wrung her hands. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that before. Finally, she took a deep breath, and the words began to spill out in a rush. “It’s just, no one’s heard from you for a while, Dip. You had moved to San Francisco and we were all so excited for you. You were starting your high-powered career, you had your woman, and you were going to make it in the big city. And we all thought you had! Every time we talked on the phone, you raved about all the great things you were doing. All the pictures you put online were of amazing things. Everything was great! You were so happy there. We were so happy for you.”

She traced her fingers along the arm of her chair. “Then one day, out of the blue, you announce you were dropping everything and going to New Hampshire. New Hampshire, Dipper! No warning, no heads up, not even an explanation. Just one day gone, off to the other side of the country. And we … we didn’t hear from you again.” The tip of her forefinger made aimless circles as she glanced up at him from underneath her bangs. He looked away, starting to feel guilty. “I mean, I’m all for giving someone space. But this was kind of ridiculous.”

“How did you find me?” His voice was a touch hoarse.

“I had to call in a favor from Pacifica. She owed me big time from that fashion week fiasco.” There was subtle pride in her words. However, the emotion vanished with her next sentence, the expression turning instead to one of contained sorrow. “It sucked that I had to get a third party to find you, bro. It sucked big time.”

“I’m sorry, Mabes. I really am.” The guilt sat in his stomach like a stone. He tried to think of what to say. “I just, you know, had to get away from it all. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Couldn’t take what anymore Dipper!?” His sister’s exasperation was evident. “You always do this, you know. You get all up in your head. You get worked up and freaked out, until it builds into something out of control, making you do something drastic. Like moving to New Hampshire!” She rubbed at her forehead. “And anytime someone tries to talk to you about it, you only give little cryptic answers. Like right now. Little answers that don’t actually reveal anything. So they have to drag it out of you piece by piece. It’s almost as if you’re ashamed or something. Frankly, it’s exhausting.”

The emotion in her tone caught him off guard, her sad sincerity making him feel even worse. “Sorry.” He mumbled. It was all he could think to say.

Mabel gave a sympathetic smile and reached over to pat his arm. “It’s ok, bro-bro. I don’t mind, really. It’s just how you are. I get that.” They shared a mutual look for a moment. “But just this once, can you please just tell me what happened? You had everything! And now you’re here, with nothing. You went from being surrounded by people to being completely alone.”

His laugh, sharp and sardonic, split the evening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his twin recoil in surprise and shock. He felt a small measure of satisfaction at the reaction. “No, you’re so wrong. That’s not it at all. I went from being completely alone to being wonderfully alone.” He explained, the edge to his tone apparent even to him. “You can’t understand how it feels to have people and activity and life all around you. And to be in no way connected to any of it. To be utterly detached. To be forsaken.”

“But…” Mabel began, but a harsh shake of his head stopped her. He knew what she was going to say.

“Catherine left me. One day we were talking about what new furniture we needed in the living room. Then the next day, much to my astonishment, we were having the ‘splitting up’ conversation.” He chuckled darkly, the sound grating. “I say conversation. It was more a dictation. From her to me. And then that was it. It’s incredible, really, the difference between knowing one person in the city and knowing nobody.”

He gazed out over the front lawn, running his eyes over the land he now owned. The grass sloped down until it reached the edge of the copse of trees that ran along the property. It was good to be among trees again. The city was ugly, all concrete and blacktop, grey slabs of artificial aspirations closing in around him until he felt like he was drowning. Trees didn’t do that, not in the same way. Trees made him feel small, sure. The green and brown monoliths towered, unmoving and seemingly eternal. But it was different. He couldn’t help being small compared to the trees no more than the trees could help being small compared to a mountain.

“I know it looked like I had everything. That was kind of the point.” He ran a hand through his hair, nervous about the confession he was about to make. “I did all I could to give you and the family that impression. Carefully selected pictures put online. Practiced sentences on the phone. False cheer everywhere. In some ways, I’m pleased to learn that it worked so well. In other ways, I’m devastated.”

Letting out a long exhale of breath, he chanced a look at Mabel. She wore an expression of concern, brows furrowed, her lips pressed into that hard line. But her eyes still had their customary twinkle, even if it was muted behind the apprehension present as well. “The truth is,” he continued. “I only ever had the potential for everything. It was never anything more than that. It’s such a cliché, but I moved to that city brimming with possibility, wide-eyed and excited. It was everything I was supposed to want and everything I had been working towards, right? The job, the city, the woman. The life. It was supposed to be it.”

“Not even close, apparently.” He maintained the eye contact with his sister. It felt surprisingly nice to talk to someone. Or maybe more accurately, it felt nice to be listened to. “The job made me money, sure. Enough to live in ‘Frisco, and certainly enough to afford this place. But it was painful, hollow stuff. They don’t tell you about that, in school. About how little of the job is actually career, and how much of it is actually work.” His grimace was mirrored by Mabel making one of her own, and he enjoyed seeing the moment of synchronicity. “The city was beautiful in a lot of ways. But never in a way that counted. Never in a way that mattered. And the woman… well, never mind that. Suffice it to say, after all that went down and with everything else, each day was an effort. An excruciating effort that I was forced to make.”  
He cut off the eye contact, looking once more towards the horizon. She was right, he did feel ashamed. How could you just admit to someone that you screwed up and that things were awful? How could you tell someone that you failed? How could it ever be okay again after that?

“So I stopped making the effort.” His words were clipped. “I found this place listed online. The trees remind me of Oregon and our childhood summers spent there. But gentler, less severe. There’s no one around for several miles. I dropped everything and came here. I’m decidedly alone, yes. But in a way that I never could have been back in ‘Frisco. In a way I deserve: for better and for worse.”  
He considered saying more, but stopped himself. What more was there to say?

“What happened with Catherine?” She asked, a touch of concern in her voice.

“We broke up.” He replied.

“Well no duh!” He could sense her eye roll, even though he wasn’t looking in her direction, and he knew it was the very same eye roll he had received all his life. “Why did you two break up? Come on, brospeh! You were kind of head-over-heels for her. You basically moved there just for her! You had your whole life planned out. What happened?”

“What is there to say? We grew apart.” He glanced at his twin, and saw her flat look. She said nothing, just staring at him and waiting. Sighing, he contemplated his drink for a moment before taking a bracing swig.  
“It’s shocking, really, just how quickly it happened. How soon after the move that things began to fall apart. It felt like I had only just arrived, like we had just begun our life together. What I thought would be the rest of my life, you know? We were together for years! And then, a few months after the move, we were done. Before you know it, she was breaking up with me.”

He scratched idly at the corner of his eye, hoping the motion would help disguise the small drop that had appeared there. “We did grow apart, really. That isn’t just one of those things people say. At the time, it definitely felt like a rough patch. But a minor one, one that you worked through, right? It’s only looking back now that I see how dire it truly was, almost right from the get-go.” 

He cleared his throat slightly, remembering. “Each day communication was a little rarer. It became less of a conversation and more of a report. Those little touches you give each other, while passing in the hallway or just because you can? A hand across the shoulder, a squeeze of the waist, a hip bump? Those disappeared. We stopped showering together. I feel like that’s significant. You should always shower with your partner. And in the bedroom…”  
The hints of a blush appeared on his face, evidence of the embarrassment he felt to be discussing such a subject. But he soldiered on. “In the beginning, the sex was unreal. And frequent. Damn was it frequent! And then one day, while you’re sneaking off to the study at one o’clock in the morning to ‘take matters into your own hands’, you come to realize this is the fifth time this week. You realize that number seems high, and not because you masturbate too much, but because you can’t even remember the last time you had sex five times in one week, let alone in two or three. You realize you don’t even think about it anymore, that it’s become a nightly ritual, a check mark you make on the list before you even consider going to bed. Because you know what you’ll find when you get under those covers. The same thing you’ve been finding all that month and the month before it. A shoulder so cold it could cut you.” The bitter words were practically spat from his mouth, and he hated himself a little for the disdain contained in them. “Makes all the sex that came before it seem like affectation.”

He was a little startled by the vehemence that coursed through him at those words, the emotion thick enough for him to choke on. Trying to calm himself, he looked out down the path, seeking something to distract him. Some ways away, a rabbit approached the herb garden. No doubt its tiny rabbit nose was twitching at the smells of the various herbs Dipper had planted there. The garden had been an impulse decision, brought on by his spotting of a basil plant beside the checkout line in the store during one of his bi-weekly trips into town. Next thing he knew, he had a whole variety of plants and seeds in the cart. A subsequent trip to the local hardware store had provided what he needed by way of tools and supplies. He had felt silly at first, toiling away in the soil with a copious amount of sweat on his brow. But now he affectionately referred to it as his ‘comfort garden’, a place he went to feel at peace. The rabbit searched in vain for a way through the fence that surrounded the garden. But there was none. Dipper had seen to that, making the barrier foolproof and impenetrable. So, after a bit, the rabbit scampered off in search of an easier target.

“Everyone is busy making a life for themselves. If you aren’t careful, they’ll make one that doesn’t have a place for you in it.” He tossed back the rest of the whiskey.

Frowning at the bottom of his mason jar glass, Dipper stood and stretched for a moment. He held the empty glass up to Mabel, and she nodded in acknowledgment, raising one of her fingers as a signal. He nodded back, and headed to the front door. He was halfway through the doorway when her quiet voice reached him.

“Bring the whole bottle out?” 

He laughed in acknowledgment, the screen door slamming behind him. At the crack of wood crashing against wood, his laugh threatened to become a sob, and he hurried to the kitchen before she could hear it. He hurled himself into the room, leaning over the sink as great heaving gasps shook his whole body. It was an effort to force himself to breath evenly. But force himself he did, the stale air of the kitchen intrusive as he sucked it deep into his lungs before exhaling it back out.

He had never told anyone those things. He had sworn that he never would. Instead, he had opted to keep them buried deep inside, a secret shame to keep hidden, a burden to carry entirely on his own. It burned him that he had opened up and spilled the embarrassing facts of his failure to someone else. And not just any someone else; his twin sister. What she must think of him now. The disappointment she must feel. The only thing he could have said that would have been worse… he shook his head to dismiss those thoughts, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on his face to distract him.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter, he told himself. It was done, and now she knew. There wasn’t anything else to do but go have an awkward conversation about himself and his miraculous ability to ruin his own life. This is exactly why he hadn’t told anybody about where he was, why he hadn’t reached out. He had no desire to talk about himself, no wish to rehash the past. But family was family, and Mabel was Mabel. That was exactly what she would want to do. There would be no avoiding it now. He grabbed a second mason jar and the still nearly-full whiskey bottle, mentally bracing himself for the third-degree he would receive when he returned to the porch. The whiskey would help at least.

After closing the screen door slowly, preventing it from slamming this time, Dipper poured whiskey into Mabel’s jar and handed it over. He watched her nervously, but she just reached out and accepted the glass with a nod of thanks, seemingly contemplating the trees and the sky. She wore a small smile. He couldn’t help the sense that it was somewhat sad. He retook his seat, following her lead to survey the view, and refilled his own jar, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“Did I ever tell you my old art teacher’s favorite artist?”

Dipper blinked. Mabel’s voice had been soft and pensive. He had not expected the question, neither the content of it nor its appearance. “Um, no. I don’t think you ever did,” was all he could manage to reply.  
He frowned in concentration, trying to remember Mabel’s old art teacher. She’d had many, over the years, but her favorite had been the one from college. He thought he could picture the old professor now; bald, with a silly pencil moustache that did not work with his round and bulbous face. The man must have sought out every stereotype because he had worn a turtleneck and a beret everywhere, even in the summer. Still, Mabel had loved him, and he really had doted on her, taking her under his wing and personally tutoring her. He must have done something right. Mabel was something of a famous artist now, of course, with paintings and various works in art galleries all over the world. Why would she be bringing him up now?

“Bob Ross.” His sister stated simply.

“The guy from public access television!” Dipper said incredulously. “I would have thought one of the Italian masters or something.”

Mabel shook her head. “He would lecture to me about how artists always fell into one of two categories. Either they put too much on their canvas, or they didn’t put enough.” She laughed fondly. “Da Vinci, Monet, Pollock; he found all of them too busy or hectic. I can hear him now. ‘The little shits saw a blank canvas and had to fill every bit of it! They cluttered up the entire painting with meaningless crap!’ Meanwhile, Rembrandt, Magritte, and Warhol he found to be too sparse. ‘What the fuck is the point of painting if you’re going to do nothing with it! Either do something, or don’t even bother in the first place!’” Her impersonation was hilariously over-the-top.

“But Bob Ross,” She raised a finger absently, as if to make her point. “Bob Ross knew what he was doing. He put exactly the right amount of stuff in the painting, never too much and never too little. And the man knew when to call it done and walk from it all, satisfied and happy.” She laughed again, though a tinge of anguish was present this time. “Crazy bastard idolized ‘The Ross’ right up until his death. Wouldn’t shut up about him, the old coot. Ah, well.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you, Professor Grantham.” She took a big gulp of the whiskey.

Dipper mirrored her, raising his glass and taking a sip of his own. The twins returned to a state of silence. Above, sunset began to give its final endeavors. Tendrils of pink stood out amongst the oranges and yellows, the tips of the trees ablaze with the brilliant colors. To the east, the dark clouds from before had expanded, beginning to cover more and more of the sky as they rolled in, seemingly unrelenting in their movements and their desire to overtake the light in the west.

“So is that what you think about us, Dipper?” Mabel’s question was sudden and pointed. “That we’re both just making our own lives, and there isn’t a place for the other anymore?”

“Wait, what?” He groped for words, confused by the sudden transition. “That wasn’t… I mean, what I said… it wasn’t about you!”

“No, I didn’t suppose it was.” She replied coolly. “It’s been pretty apparent from all of your actions recently that very little is about me.”

He recoiled as if she had struck him. “I… are you mad at me? Seriously?!”

She sighed, the exhale of breath raw and heart wrenching. “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore, Dipper. I don’t know what to think and I don’t know what to say. You’re so distant, in ways that I never anticipated.”

He glanced away, not wanting to look at her while receiving this abuse. Focusing instead on the now black clouds rolling onto the horizon, he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Try as he might, he couldn’t.

“I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been the perfect sister or human being.” Her voice was small, almost as if speaking were a trial. “I’ve been off jetting around the world, moving from one tour stop to another. It’s a mess of promotions and unveilings, and I’m aware it takes up way too much of my time. Even this visit, this one right here, is only possible because my next gallery event is in New York and I had a little time beforehand to sneak away. I’m not there enough, I know.”

“And I know now that you’ve had a pretty shitty time. I wish I’d known that earlier, but I guess the important thing is I know now. That sucks big time bro, and I’m sorry about that.” She took a long, drawn out breath. “But don’t you pretend for one goddamn second that you couldn’t have called me. That you couldn’t have made even the barest amount of effort to get in touch with me, and that I wouldn’t have done all I could to help you. I would have done my best. I would have done everything.”

“I figured you knew that. I mean, I was counting on it, should I ever need you to do the same.” Her voice grew quiet. “The fact that you didn’t, that I had to come all the way to stupid New Hampshire, makes me think I can’t rely on you. God knows I’ve needed it. God knows I’ve needed you.”

She finished her glass and said nothing more. He said nothing, because he knew that she was right.

They both sat in stony silence for a while. Dipper alternated between staring into the bottom of his jar and sneaking glances at Mabel, trying to gauge her mood. Mabel, for her part, maintained her contemplation of the sky, seemingly remaining steadfast. He would drop his eyes back down to his drink, peek up at her again, before returning once more to his glass. The silence continued.

“Do you remember that time in high school when you laughed so hard in art class that you pissed yourself?” He suddenly found himself asking. He wasn’t even sure why he asked it, but he rushed ahead anyway. “You had to run into the bathroom and you hid in one of the stalls. Next thing I know, I’m getting, like, a hundred texts in biology class, asking me to go home and get you a change of clothes.”

“I was so embarrassed,” came the slow response from his twin. “Cynthia Derkins told the funniest story about her dad catching her in the backyard with Tyler Williams and I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until I peed my pants.” She shot him a look, clearly catching his amused grin. “It wasn’t funny! You had to get those clothes for me. I sat next to Justin Pemberton in the next class and he had the sweetest smile! I couldn’t sit next to him with pee-soaked pants!”

He let out a bark of laughter. “That’s right! Man, I do not remember what I told Ms. Shineheart to get out of class, but I do not think she believed me. That was easily the fastest I ever drove home and back. Surprised the old station wagon handled it, to be honest.”

“Did I ever thank you for that?” She asked, her voice curious.

“You baked me cookies.” He replied. “And said something about setting me up with Kimberly Kline. Not that you ever did.”

She made a face. “I’d say I’m sorry, but frankly you dodged a bullet there. She got really weird sophomore year. What with the mascot incident and all that.”

“Yeah, but her butt was pretty cute.”

Mabel slapped his arm at the comment, and he jabbed her playfully with his elbow in return. They both laughed.

“Remember the time you punched Ernie Jackson in the face and you got suspended for a week?” She asked. “You punched him right in the hallway, in front of everyone! And you had to hide both the suspension and the injury to your hand from mom and dad?”

“Yeah, I do.” He could remember the incident vividly, the rage he had felt in the moment and the way Ernie’s jaw had felt like iron beneath his fist. “I think you were the one who rushed home and stole the letter from the school out of the mailbox, so that they never got it. And then I would just go to the library all day, pretending to be at class. You’d come and hang out with me during your lunch break. How’d we hide the injury though?”

“I would play nurse at night, after they had gone to bed. Bandage you up in the bathroom and all that.” She said. “I think you just kept your hand in your pocket whenever you were around them. What did you hit him for anyway? Do you remember?”

“He called you a slut. So I punched him.” Dipper replied simply, taking a sip.

Mabel snorted. “It isn’t the word I would use. But he wasn’t exactly wrong.”

He choked on his drink, coughing and spluttering before peering suspiciously at his sister. She merely gave him a smirk, raised her glass, and slammed it back. All he could do was shake his head and return the gesture. The whiskey burned as it snaked through him.

“Remember when Susy Osborn dumped me during junior prom?” He inquired, uncomfortable with the memory. “Right in the middle of one of the slow dances?”

“Yeah, she was a real bitch.” Mabel spat the world with disdain.

“Yeah, she kind of was.” He agreed. “Still, it was pretty brutal. I had worked up so much courage to even go to that stupid dance. To have that happen … But then you ditched the after-party you had been invited to in order to watch old kung-fu movies with me in the basement. We stayed up all night. That was really nice.”

“Plus, I graffitied her car.”

“Plus you graffitied… wait, that was you!” His twin gave him a wink. “But there was a swear in it and you didn’t swear back then! Also, it was really mean!”

She shrugged. “What better way to avoid suspicion then?”

He blinked at her, stunned, before raising his glass in a salute.

“Remember the time in college where I had to take a science lab, and I stupidly chose a robotics course?” She reached for the bottle to refill her glass. “I gave up like halfway through the semester, and didn’t even know when the final project was due. Then one day I got a package from you. Inside was a fully built little robot that could take a dog on a walk.”

“Or a pig,” he added in.

“Or a pig,” she allowed. “Point is, I got an A in that course. And it was all thanks to you.”

“Oh geez. I would say that it was nothing, but I just remembered what I had to do to get that robot built.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I had to play in Randall Turner’s Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons game. I got there, and it was just a bunch of fat, white guys roleplaying their fantasy sex with goblins and elves.” He drank the rest of the amber liquor in his jar in one gulp. “That may have been the moment I knew I needed therapy.”

She patted his hand sympathetically. “It sounds awful. But you know that’s false. The moment we both knew we needed therapy was when we walked in on mom and dad doing it.”

“Oh god!” He bolted upright in his seat. “Why would you bring that up?”

“Mostly for that reaction you just gave.” She cackled, leaning back in her seat as she took another drink. “But seriously, do you remember that?”

He nodded. “We heard the creaking of their bedsprings, and we didn’t know what it was. We thought there was something going on, so we decided to find out.”

“You grabbed a baseball bat!” She gave him a shove, still laughing. “When was the last time you had even swung a baseball bat?”

“T-ball.” He said, letting her push him. “In, like, kindergarten. But it could have been anything! I didn’t know!”

“And instead, instead,” Mabel was laughing hard enough now that she clearly was having trouble getting the words out. “Instead, we pushed open their door and there was mom, bent over the bed. And dad, giving it to her from behind!”

He groaned, scrubbing his hands across his face. “Thank god they didn’t hear us or see us. That would have been a nightmare.”

“And the worst, the worst,” she said, grabbing a hold of his arm as if to steady herself. “The worst was their faces! Mom was so bored, just staring at the back wall, resting her chin on her arms! And dad, dad was just there grunting and thrusting away, looking like he was really going at it!” She curled up on her seat, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“That is so wrong.” Dipper admonished, though he couldn’t keep a giggle of his own from sneaking out as he finished his drink before refilling both his and Mabel’s glasses. “Just so, so wrong.”

They continued, back and forth, each taking turns calling out amusing stories from their past. Times when they had helped one another, times when they had backed each other up, or times when they had been each other’s sole source of comfort in a dark time.

“Remember when…” Dipper would say, and Mabel would laugh, adding the parts that he had forgotten.

“Oh, oh, what about that time…” Mabel would call out, and Dipper would fill her in on what had been going on in his head during that particular incident.

At one point, Mabel jumped up, prancing about the porch to emphasize her point. Dipper had quickly joined her, pacing as he lectured about what had really happened. After each story, they would clink their glasses and take a drink. Dipper reveled in the sharing of memories and in the company.

Soon they were leaning against each other, looking out over the fields and up last few stars, fighting to be seen through the dark clouds that now dominated the sky. Far away in the distance, they could see rainfall, and Dipper knew that it was moving in their direction. The empty whiskey bottle lay forgotten on the floor beside them.

“Remember that time I thought I was going to be happy in San Francisco?” He asked. “And instead, I ended up in New Hampshire, thinking I would be alone forever. And then you showed up?”

“Remember that time I thought I would have to track down my goofy bro-bro in order to yell at him?” She asked. “And instead, I end up having the best night I’ve had in forever?”

He glanced down at her to find her already looking up at him. There was a second of silence as they each examined the other…

… and suddenly he’s kissing her, his mouth pressing against hers in a rush. Their lips meet, moving against each other, and it’s apparent that she is kissing him back.

There had been a time when he would have stopped her. Where he would have pushed her away and retreated, both physically away from her and emotionally into himself. A time plagued by doubts and fears, mostly of the self, and an uncompromising sense of duty to something never fully articulated. It would have been the end of this, a permanent line that he drew in the sand. 

But tonight, there is no such line. He doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question at all. He just gathers her into his arms, pulling her against him, and gives himself over to the kiss and the sudden hunger that awakens inside of him. Tonight, he’s tipsy on more than just whiskey. He’s tipsy on her, on the heady elixir that is Mabel Pines, his twin sister.

Mabel, for her part, seems to feel the same way. She’s on her tip toes, leaning into the kiss, her lips fierce against his and her arms wrapping around him. Her mouth opens and her tongue presses against him. He’s quick to allow it in, his responsive groan muffled by the immediate dueling of their tongues.

The kiss seems to last forever. And yet, all too soon, he finds himself needing to come up for air. He reluctantly begins to lean back. She mumbles her displeasure, but allows him, dropping down on her toes as the kiss is broken. She buries her head in his chest and he rests his chin against her. They both take a second to catch their breaths. When he feels a little less winded, he risks looking down at her to find her already glancing up at him. Her face is flushed, cheeks peeked and a glint in her eyes. He raises his eyebrows, questioning. She nips at his neck before jerking her head back towards the house. He nods once.  
And just like that, she’s off and running, throwing open the screen door and rushing through. He’s surprised for a moment before he gathers his wits enough to follow her, tearing after her and her head start. The screen door slams behind them both. She’s giggling now, the breathless sound floating through the different rooms as she tries to figure out the way, with him chasing her all the while. She slides around a corner, grabbing on to the doorframe to make the turn. He can tell by the thumping he hears that she has found the stairs, and he takes a short cut, trying to cut her off. But she’s already climbed them, her laughter taunting him, and he rushes up on all fours like an animal.

Once at the top, he catches a glimpse of pink disappearing into his bedroom, and he barrels in after her. Apparently she had stopped just inside the door, because he crashes into her, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs. The collision knocks them both onto the bed. He feels the impact, and just as he is becoming concerned that he may have hurt her, her laughter increases, the tone slightly mocking.  
He attempts to make the mockery stop, capturing her mouth once more in a kiss. This one is more feverish, the tempo rapid and the motion striving. They strain against each other, causing him to become aware of her body, pinned under him. She’s all curves and softness, and the feeling drives him wild. He breaks the kiss to nibble at her neck, working his way over to nip at an earlobe. She bucks against him fervently, and he knows that he’s found a weak spot.

Then it’s a scramble to remove clothes. She tugs at his shirt, and he adjusts himself so that she can pull it off of him. He hurriedly fumbles at his belt buckle, throwing himself violently off the bed in his haste to rid himself of his jeans, forgetting that he still has his shoes on. She smiles at this, sitting up on the bed. He can barely make her out, the room is so dark. But he is captivated as she teasingly slides the neck of her sweater down, revealing her bare shoulder. He bends, trying to take off his shoes and socks without looking away from her. She smirks and, grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulls it off in one fell movement. She does that trick all women seem to know, contorting her arms behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra, casting the article aside with indifference. She stands, kicking off her flats and shimmying out of her skirt and underwear.

She’s before him, naked. He’s naked too. They stand there a moment in mutual nudity.

And then they meet again, falling back onto the bed, mouths seeking out any inch of skin they can find. He feels her kisses on his neck, his chest, his shoulders, her lips trailing fire across his skin. His success in pinning her hands down elicits a whine, her breath hot against his ear. He returns the favor, panting against her before kissing her hard and deep.

It is then that her hips catch his attention, writhing and squirming beneath him. He moans through the kiss, grinding himself onto her, though whether that is to stop her or to encourage her, he couldn’t say. Regardless of his intent, the result is increased effort on her part, the friction both glorious and aggravating. With an odd quirk of her hips, he’s poised at her entrance. He is suddenly very aware of the difference between what is him and what is her. He pauses ever so slightly that it’s almost a hesitation. But it isn’t, not really. There’s simply no possibility of second-guessing now. Even if there was, the way she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him down on to her would have seen to that. With one movement, he is completely sheathed inside of her.

He hisses through gritted teeth. The velvet heat that now surrounds his length is as excruciating as it is pleasurable, the immediate sensation threatening to undo him right then and there. Surely it should be impossible for anyone to be this tight or this warm or this wet. But she is; indescribably so. So he does exactly what he should do. He worships it. He worships her.

He moves inside of her, the rhythm of his thrusts slow and purposeful. She moves with him, hips twitching in languid ellipses. Her cheek rests against the sheet, the pose seemingly demure. But he knows better; can tell by the upturned corner of her mouth and the tilt of her chin that she’s merely playing coy. He delights in her playful deception.

The pace increases, as he steadily works himself into a faster rate. She matches him every step of the way, their hipbones meeting each time. At the apex of one thrust, she strikes. She catches him off guard and, with a sudden twist, her hands are freed. He manages to recover slightly, catching himself on his forearms and stopping himself from crushing her with his weight. She seems heedless of the peril, instead grasping his cheeks and pulling him in a kiss. She’s insistent and demanding, her lips hot. It only lasts a moment before she pulls him away, instead attacking his neck, biting and sucking in a way that he knows will leave a mark come morning.

It spurs him on. He’s driving into her now, each movement exacting and sharp. He seeks to prove himself, to show her exactly what she is doing to him. Because each touch of her fingers, each brush of her skin against his, each imprint of her lips is invigorating, the sensation astringent and soothing in a manner that is both confusing and utterly natural. Her hands are running down his sides now, alternating between stroking his flanks in an encouraging manner and clutching desperately at him. Her legs, perched high on his hips, clench tighter and tighter. He can tell she’s close. He’s close too. So he gives himself over to the utter abandon, the complete need, the powerful sensation that is her which courses through his veins. Everything blurs, the only things he’s aware of are the incredible urge within, the feel of her around him, and the little mews she lets out, the first sound he’s heard from her in a while.

And in an instant, it all snaps. Her nails dig into his sides at the same time that her legs go rigid. All of her, every muscle, seems to clench and strain around him, signaling her orgasm. It’s too much for him as well. He braces himself, holding himself low over her, and gives one final thrust into her, pushing himself as deep as he can go before shuddering through his own release.

They hold themselves still, as if afraid to move and disturb the sudden stillness of the moment. 

He should tell her. The significance of what just occurred is apparent to him, definite and unambiguous in his mind. It was like nothing he has ever experienced before. Their natural, effortless coming together. Their unspoken accord as they moved as one. Their mutual understanding of what to do, what to seek, what to give and what to take. Everything that came before it was incomparable. His whole being sings with the new knowledge and he cannot ignore it. Nor does he want to. He never could have anticipated this, could never have envisioned it. And yet, at the same time, it was so unsurprising, so predictable as to be laughable. How could it be any other way between the two of them, really? He should tell her. 

He wants to tell her. But thoughts come slow as his mind tries to reboot. When the thoughts do come, they are all of her. The elegance of her neck, the one he has found is sensitive and tender, as she throws her head back to laugh. The memory of whiskey on her lips, the result of those few drops which always escape from the sides of the glass, and the new desire he has to suck those drops of liquor right off whenever he might see them. Her fiery temperament, once a source of youthful frustration and sibling abutment, now a source of delight due to the reckless abandon it fuels. The flash of her eyes, the heartfelt exuberance, the whiteness of her smile, the stubborn will; a million things clamor for his attention in his mind and he tries to appease them all.

He wants to tell her. But he’s still gasping and she’s still panting as they each attempt to catch their breath. Resting his forehead against hers, he drinks in the sight of her. Disheveled hair, skin agleam with sweat, shoulders heaving, and her legs still slightly aquiver. She’s beautiful. She’s lovely and sensual and all-encompassing. And she’s here, in his arms, her face red and her body hot, evidence of the rigors they both just participated in. Beneath him, she is all warmth and invitation and compulsion, her hips making little twitching motions that create a stirring within him.

He wants to tell her. But she shoots him a grin, eyebrow cocked, and slides a leg up his own, hitching it high around his waist once more. Arousal roars through him, unexpected after the recent amorous endeavors, and he growls, enjoying the noticeable shiver that runs through her at the sound. They share a look, and he thinks it must be apparent to both of them that talk is not necessary.

So he doesn’t tell her. Instead, he kisses her, listening to the insistent demand within him and moving against her in manner that elicits a gasp and a moan. She returns his ardor in kind, pressing herself against him. Deepening the kiss, he thinks no more.

________________________________________

When he awoke, Mabel was sitting on the side of the bed, facing away from him and gazing out the window.

The dim light of the grey morning played across her naked skin, throwing her into stark contrast. He traced her with his eyes; beginning at the swell of her breasts as they peeked out around her torso and following the graceful contours down to her waist and over the curve of her hips. Moving on to her ass, he saw that her cheeks were pale and white, an interlude from the tan that covered the rest of her. The discovery was charming. A single dimple could be found on the left side of her lower back, and it marked his starting point as he followed the lines of her back up to her shoulder blades, pondering whether they had always been so sharp and boney. Her neck, despite its proud countenance, seemed too slim to hold up her pile of brunette curls, mussed and tangled.

She stood, the haphazard tossing and shaking of limbs likely serving as her version of a morning stretch. Bending over, she quested along the floor, and he felt himself blush slightly at the stirring in his groin at the sight. She straightened back up, her turquoise underwear in her hand. He watched as long, slender legs were slipped through the appropriate holes, the undergarment slowly eased over strong thighs and settled into place. There was a tear on one side, the fabric worn and faded.

Her skirt came next, still purple and just as out of place in the subdued tones of the bedroom as it had been outside last night. Another search along the floor produced her bra. Now that the room had some semblance of light, he could see that the bra was nude colored and plain, unadorned and practical. She did that little trick that all women seemed to know, putting the garment on backwards and fastening the clasp before turning it around to its proper orientation, sliding her arms through the strap and manually adjusting her breasts so they fit properly into the cups, one after the other. Finally, she pulled her sweater on, freeing the hair that became caught under the collar and making the little necessary adjustments so that it fit properly.

She turned and saw that he was awake, the twins making eye contact from across the bed. She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Walking around the bed, she sat on the edge and gazed down at him. He gazed back up at her, motionless in anticipation. The moment stretched. Opening his mouth, he sought to break the tension. But the shake of her head and her finger on his lips brought him up short.  
“This place suits you.” Her words were a soft whisper. “The forest, the fields, your silly little garden. So much solitude. It’s very you. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.” She blinked rapidly for a second. “It doesn’t matter. I see it now. And I’m glad.”

She looked around the room, playing idly with the collar of her sweater. “You’re better here. You’re fuller. More present. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like, once you were painted with water colors. Now you’ve been painted with oil paints. I… I just wonder who the painter was.”

Her gaze returned to his face, and she reached up to brush the curls from his forehead, exposing his birthmark. “I’m glad you came here. I’m glad you made the change. I’ve come to the conclusion that this was the right call.” Her expression turned serious. “But you need to come to that conclusion as well. You haven’t, not really. Not yet. You sit on your porch by yourself and you wrap the seclusion around yourself like a blanket. When really it’s a chain. It’s binding you down. And you can’t see it. Or maybe it’s more like you won’t see it.”

Her hand moved to cup his cheek. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Dip. Don’t trade one cage for another. It’s fine to be alone. It’s a terrible thing to be isolated.”

Sorrow coursed beneath her words like a hidden current. The sincerity of the emotion contained there crashed through him. Sorrow and knowledge: personal, intimate, devastating knowledge. There was something there; making him certain that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Making him wonder what it was. It made him afraid.

He longed to ask her. To gather her into his arms and hold her close. To lay in bed, her body tight against him, safe. To listen to everything she had to say, about anything and everything, regardless of the subject. To ease away any and all discomfort she might be feeling. That she might ever feel ever again. The yearning burned in his chest, the demand so strong it surprised him, threatening and promising to sweep him out into that hidden current.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to think. Moments ticked by. Moments spent with her eyes boring into his, her pupils flicking back and forth as if searching for something. Moments spent in acute awareness of the warm hand against his face, the sensation both familiar and strange. Moments spent trying in vain to do something. Anything. Even a smile to tell her it would be alright. But he remained motionless, and the moment passed.

Mabel leaned forward and brushed her lips against his forehead in a light kiss. Then she stood and made her way to the door.

“Are you,” his voice was gruff, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Are you leaving?”

His sister paused in the doorway, turning back and putting her shoulder against the frame. “I’m afraid so.” There was sadness in her tone. “I only had the one night to get away from the art tour, unfortunately. Gotta get back to the old grind. Plus, I need to return that rental car to the airport. Those late fees are killer!”

He chuckled at the joke. As he was supposed to. The twins shared a look of amusement.

“I’ll walk you out. It’s the least a proper host can do, right?”

She smiled her assent, and, after he quickly found a pair of sweatpants from somewhere in the room, the two walked down the stairs and out the front door. They strode out onto the porch, pausing at the edge where the steps began. It was a grisly day. The sun was covered by black clouds, the world lit by the muted and feeble rays that managed to break through. Nothing moved in the fields except for the trees swaying in the wind. No sound could be heard.

Mabel took a deep breath, seemingly breathing in the smell of the morning and the nature that surrounded her.

“It’s a nice place, Dip.” She said, casting a look at him. “I’d… I’d like to come back, if that’s ok with you. You can give me the tour of the property, show me the local sights, maybe serve me something besides whiskey?”

“Yeah,” he replied simply. “That sounds great.”

“Besides, a view like this is exactly the kind of thing Bob Ross would love.” She slowly turned her head, surveying the surrounding area. “And I need to practice my Bob Ross. We both do.”

A quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a significant glance later, and she was in the car, the door closing quietly behind her. He watched the rental ease over the gravel drive. As it reached the tree line, the rain began to fall, the few drops cold as they hit his bare chest. The car disappeared, sight of it blocked by the forest. He heard the first rumbling of thunder giving warning to the approaching storm.


End file.
